They rose from their kneeling postures simultaneously. Not by planning, but simple familiarity; Pashilyn and Flaethwyn had prayed together so many times over the years they instinctively recited the Benedictions at the same pace and rhythm, even when doing so silently.

Gwyllthean’s temple sanctuary was somewhat less than impressive compared to Fflyrdylle’s Grand Chapel of the Convocation, but that was only to be expected of a temple in an outlying town. It still showed the care and devotion owed to the faith in its construction, from the huge pieces of pure golden akorthist which formed its shell right down to the smaller decorative touches: richly embroidered crimson banners, stained glass lanterns which by their intensity seemed to be burning pure asaukhad. Displayed behind the pulpit were four ornate artifacts, once held by Dount’s greatest champions of the faith—powerful weapons which surely would have fetched an enormous price or served some new Blessed very well indeed, but were held back as a display of power, and for the local Convocation to deploy as it saw fit in a crisis. While rumor continued to insist that Clan Aelthwyn’s relationship with the Convocation was tense at best, they had clearly not skimped on their duties to the faith in their lands.

Pashilyn watched Flaethwyn raise her eyes to study the sword, bracers, chain mail hauberk, and amulet on display and frown slightly. She could practically see the elf realizing who would most likely end up wielding these artifacts in the Goddess’s name.

They didn’t linger, though, turning and stepping quietly over to the side door of the sanctuary, where a robed lowborn priestess was watching over the worshipers. It was not the day or time for temple services, but there were others in the chapel praying.

Pashilyn and the priestess on duty exchanged the appropriate clerical heirats; the woman’s eyes widened slightly when Flaethwyn respectfully folded down hands at her, but she made no comment. As an elf, Flaethwyn technically owed no obeisance to anyone save another elf of higher or equal standing, and especially not a lowborn, but she had never lacked respect for the faith. Seeing her fellow priestess’s surprise, Pashilyn deduced that while Clan Aelthwyn funded their temples adequately they probably didn’t let the clergy forget who was born into the Goddess’s favor.

“Sister,” Pashilyn said quietly. “To whom should we speak about accessing the temple’s restricted archives?”

“The Goddess graces your journey, Sister,” the other priestess replied with a warm smile. “I am one of the librarians. What section in particular do you need to study?”

“The Viryan texts, if you please.”

The woman’s expression remained smooth, though she hesitated, glancing fleetingly at Flaethwyn. Had Pashilyn been alone, even as a priestess and a highborn, this would have required at minimum some lengthy explanation and likely a letter of reference from the Convocation in Fflyrdylle. But this was Fflyr Dlemathlys, and priestess or no, a lowborn did not say “no” to an elf.

“Very good, Sister. Highlady. I’ll conduct you to the appropriate archives.” She leaned to the side, making a discreet gesture at the other priest on duty; he nodded to her in acknowledgment. “This way, if you please.”

They slipped out of the solemn atmosphere of the sanctuary into a much less well-lit corridor following the outer curve of the building. With the need for appropriate quiet lifted, the three strode faster, footsteps echoing on the akorthist.

“Just for the record,” said the priestess with a smile, “a show of devotion isn’t necessary to first access the archives, ladies.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that,” Pashilyn said ruefully. “We’ve had…a rather rough night. Sometimes, one needs to take a moment to bathe in the Goddess’s presence and rejuvenate the soul.”

“Ah, so it is,” the woman agreed, then hesitated. “If I may be forgiven for asking, why do you need the Viryan texts in particular?”

“Lady Pashilyn wants to study the enemy,” Flaethwyn answered. “We’re part of an adventuring party in Dount on account of the local King’s Guild warnings about goblin activity. The Guild thinks there may be a Goblin King down there.”

“I see,” she said, frowning. “Not you two alone, I hope. Goblins may be small, but in numbers…”

“Oh, we have more comrades than this, never fear,” Pashilyn assured her. “But Viryan writings are restricted for good reason. Lady Flaethwyn is…who I trust with this information.”

Flaethwyn lifted her chin, and the priestess looked overtly relieved.

“Then I hope your quest goes with the Goddess’s favor, ladies. I am pleased to be of some small help, and will keep you in my prayers.”

“We would be honored, Sister.”

They passed through the temple’s library, impressive for its size and distance from proper civilization, to the restricted section. Their guide had to unlock first a gate into that entire suite of rooms, and then to the specific chamber they sought. The Viryan archives warranted their own small room, though it proved to be nothing but a cramped little office with all of three shelves of texts and a reading table.

“These books must not leave this chamber, ladies, for obvious reasons,” the librarian told them at the door. “I must lock this behind you. When your studies are complete, please ring the bell and an acolyte will escort you out.”

“Our thanks, Sister,” said Pashilyn, offering another polite heirat, which was reciprocated with a smile.

Flaethwyn relaxed visibly once the heavy door shut them inside, to the point of letting a scowl drift over her features. “Do you really think we needed to come alone? If this is so important, surely Yoshi at least should be with us. That boy needs all the education we can possibly cram into him.”

“Yoshi may have had the honor of meeting the Goddess in person,” said Pashilyn, already selecting books from the shelves, “but that is not the same as having a thorough grounding in Her doctrine. You’re right; his education is ongoing, and likely will be for some time. Amell I suspect has lived too focused on her alchemy to have much time for religion, and as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Raffan is…charmingly profane.”

Flaethwyn curled her lip; her opinions about Raffan were firmly on record.

“It’s as I said to the Sister,” Pashilyn continued, setting books down on the reading table and pulling out a chair. “You I trust with this, Flaethwyn. I know your piety and familiarity with scripture. The others… Viryans are neither insane nor monstrous, is the problem. Their philosophies have merit, and that is what makes them dangerous. I would not expose these ideas to innocent souls who might find themselves…swayed.”

“Hm.” Flaethwyn took a seat opposite her at the table, picking up one of the books and scowling at its cover. “Well, at least it’s in Fflyr. I was going to ask when you learned to read…wait, is this orcish?”

“Of course the Convocation has translated and kept copies of these texts for study,” Pashilyn said, smiling. “For exactly the reason we are here now.”

“Yes, I have to admit I’m still not certain how you think this is going to help us exterminate goblins.”

Pashilyn tilted her head slightly, studying her companion. “Why do you think Lord Seiji went out of his way to help us, his enemies?”

Flaethwyn blinked, momentarily thrown off by the non sequitur, but then a bitter frown fell over her perfect features. “It was a trick, obviously. He’s trying to worm his way into our confidence, shake our resolve. Ugh, having to accept help from the Dark Lord was even more humiliating than spending the night in that cell.”

“Yes,” Pashilyn murmured, “if only there had been some way to avoid that.”

The elf flushed and averted her eyes.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Pashilyn continued, “and Seiji is just a conniving sneak, playing with Yoshi’s head. Or, perhaps he’s a man of firm principle who just finds himself situationally opposed to us. Or perhaps he is a generally unprincipled person, but what the captain suggested would happen to us crossed a line even he could not countenance. Perhaps he currently feels more loyalty to Yoshi as his only living countryman on this world than to his own patron goddess. Or, it could be any combination of those, or anything else besides. The point is that we don’t know. We understand almost nothing about the man, and that leaves us totally in the dark as to what he might do. What if we proceeded on your assumption, assumed the Dark Lord is a veteran schemer, and prepared ourselves to contend with his byzantine intrigues, only for him to smash straight through our careful preparations with brute force? That’s not a hypothetical example, Flaethwyn; that has happened to past Heroes and their parties. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not be remembered in history for managing to be outsmarted by someone who is not actually smarter than I.”

Flaethwyn had set down the book of orcish legends, but now frowned at the collected texts Pashilyn had arranged on the table. “Know your enemy.”

“Exactly. This is why the Convocation, and every Sanorite institution I know of, collects and preserves materials like this, dangerous as they may be in the wrong hands. We have very little interaction with Viryan societies unless a Crusade is brewing. Well, the Hero and the Dark Lord have been called, and now we need to understand our foes. We will not defeat them otherwise.”

“Very well, I can accept that premise, but… Pashi, these titles! Myths, children’s tales, creation stories? What is it you hope to learn from Viryan fairy tales?”

“Do you remember the story of creation?” Pashilyn asked, already flipping through a book.

“Of course I do.”

“Would you tell it to me?”

Flaethwyn stared at her. “Pashi. Really.”

The human raised her eyes from the pages, meeting her stare. “Indulge me.”

Flaethwyn hesitated, then broke eye contact first. Ordinarily, direct confrontation was not the best way to manage the temperamental elf—a craft at which Pashilyn was a veteran. On that day, however, when they had just emerged from a night spent in prison due to Flaethwyn’s impulsiveness and temper, the elf’s stock had never been lower.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“When Ayoha, the realm of the gods, was destroyed, the Shattering it caused destroyed worlds throughout the universe,” she began to recite—with ill grace, but at least she did it. “Seeing the destruction their fall had caused, rather than rebuild their homes, the gods scattered across the cosmos to inhabit broken worlds, to bring succor to their people and rebuild. The sisters Sanora and Virya came here to Ephemera, finding nothing left but broken floating islands and a remnant of people struggling to survive on nothing but wild khora. The sisters gave the people animals and plants, the ones we still use today, that were more suited to their needs, and offered protection from disasters and evil men while they rebuilt. Seeing that they could not be everywhere, Sanora created her own perfect race, the elves, to guide and champion the rest of the races of Ephemera in Her harmony and peace. But Virya had always been jealous of her sister, and traumatized by the loss of her home, the sight of Sanora’s final masterpiece made her snap. She began twisting and tainting Sanora’s creations to spite her, beginning by making the dark elves, and then orcs, goblins, naga, harpies, and all the evil beings that still dwell on Ephemera’s islands. Long ago losing sight of her mission, she sends her tainted spawn to disrupt Sanora’s task, which should have been her own, and that’s why they still plague us while the Goddess and her chosen labor to bring the world back to perfect harmony.”

“Very good,” Pashilyn cooed, just like a scripture teacher encouraging a young student, earning a rude gesture from Flaethwyn. “I note you didn’t talk much about Ayoha, or how all those worlds were created in the first place. Does the story really begin with its fall?”

Flaethwyn let out a huff of annoyance. “Well, the important parts do, anyway!”

“In the tradition in which we were raised, absolutely. You know, to the dwarves, those earlier sections are extremely important. To the Church of the Sun in Vaadmar, reciting the creation story the way you just did verges on blasphemy.”

The elf bared her teeth, torn between disdain for outlandish foreign customs and piety to the Goddess. “Does all that…really matter?” she finally asked in a strained tone.

“Then there are differences of opinion on even the parts you did say,” Pashilyn mused. “The official doctrine of the Radiant Temple is that Ayoha were the race of gods, not a physical place, and that they were not personally affected by the Shattering but dispersed through the universe out of compassion for the people of broken worlds.”

“Surely that’s just nitpicking.”

“And even within that same tradition, there’s a variant sect which holds that the Shattering wasn’t a universal phenomenon, only affecting Ephemera, and that Sanora and Virya were the only Ayoha who were moved to intercede.”

“I don’t see what—”

“And,” Pashilyn pressed on relentlessly, “even within that sect, an alternate interpretation exists which claims that they did not leave the realm of Ayoha, but were cast out by the other gods and had nowhere else to go.”

Flaethyn slammed her fist onto the desk. “That is heresy!”

“Sure is,” Pashilyn agreed, “at least to us. Though, interestingly, that variant sect is the oldest line of the tradition which became the Radiant Temple—of which our own Radiant Convocation is an offshoot. They were the ones who purchased the miracle from Sanora which created the great city of Lannitar. Obviously she didn’t find their beliefs offensive.”

Flaethwyn sucked in a long breath through her teeth. “Pash, what exactly are you building up to? Tell me this is going somewhere.”

“Just that I agree with you,” Pashilyn replied with a mild smile. “These differences are interesting, but ultimately not very important. Do you know why?”

“I hate this schoolteacher routine you do,” Flaethwyn complained. “Why can’t you ever just tell me things when you want me to learn them?”

Pashilyn’s smile widened. “And when I just tell you things, do you listen?”

Once again, a flush rose on the elf’s cheeks. She made a stubborn grimace that just barely managed not to be a pout, but found nothing to day.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pashilyn finally said, “because the end result is always the same. These differing accounts can offer us some insight into the cultures which produced them, but overall? The themes that emerge are all alike. Restoration, harmony, reclamation, compassion. Order, and a return to it after it was broken by some great chaos. Virya and her followers as a disruption of the great work. These are universal, the hallmarks of every Sanorite tradition.”

She reached out to pull one of the books in front of herself and flipped it open.

“Now. Do you feel ready to learn what the Viryans hold universally true?”

Flaethwyn leaned back in her seat, her expression transitioning from disgruntled to thoughtful. “All right, let’s hear it, since you think it’s so important.”

“This is a Fflyr copy of the Way of Queens, a foundational text of the Moonlit Path, which is the predominant Viryan faith in Shylverrael—or was a hundred years ago, the last time Fflyr Dlemathlys had any meaningful contact with them. It includes an account of their creation story, which is what we’re interested in.”

“Yes, I hope you don’t feel the need to explain the full nuances of dark elf philosophy,” Flaethwyn sneered.

Ignoring her attitude, Pashilyn held up the book and began reading from it. “The great Shattering destroyed the pathways of the gods throughout the cosmos, leaving those who had traveled to distant worlds no way of returning to their home in Iyoh… Hm, this printing reproduces the alternate spelling, but it’s clearly the same word. Ahem. ...no way of returning to their home in Iyoh. Thus were the Sisters stranded upon the wreck of their own labor. Where once islands had floated upon vast expanses of water, they now drifted in the Void, held together only by the will of the Sisters. Sanora, in her boundless compassion, moved to protect and shelter the survivors of their mortal children—”

“Even they get that much right,” Flaethwyn interrupted smugly.

“…the survivors of their mortal children from drought, pestilence, monsters, and the myriad hardships of a broken world. She built them safe homes in which to dwell, blessed their lives with abundance, healed all the sick and forfended all injury, even mediating against the passions of mortals to prevent them making war upon one another, as is the wont of all thinking creatures. Thus the numbers of the mortal races grew in safety and happiness, while around them the broken world continued to crumble.

“The younger Sister, Virya, looked upon these works and grew troubled. She saw that her creations had grown complacent and weak, depending upon the charity of the goddesses for their every need. In Sanora’s unthinking kindness, she had made of her creations helpless pets, who would be lost and perish should her sheltering hand ever be withdrawn. The world of Ephemera continued to fail, with no clever or gallant stewards to tend it. Thus did Virya steal away a number of the Sisters’ greatest creations, the elves, to train in secret. Teaching them the knowledge of the gods of Iyoh, of combat, cunning, and all the mortal crafts by which civilization is built, she trained these chosen few of the elves in solitude until they were ready to receive her final and ultimate gift: abandonment. Leaving them to their devices among the wild khora, she withdrew her protection, save to shield them from the notice of Sanora and her well-meaning subjugation. Well-taught, the chosen elves honored their goddess by thriving of their own strength, beginning the work of rebuilding and restoring Ephemera.

“Continuing to work in secret, hidden from Sanora’s smothering kindness, Virya spread across the islands the means to train and harden more generations of her children. She built great dungeons and placed crafty Spirits to tempt and test them, honing their skills, culling the unworthy and rewarding the strong with greater power. From these came the first Blessings, by which those worthy of their power would go forth and wrest Ephemera back from the brink of destruction.

“When she saw that her students were thriving, Virya came to them a last time, and delivered her final instruction: Teach all others the way to power. Then she removed her last protection, leaving them open to Sanora’s sight. In honor of their goddess, the chosen elves rebuffed the Lady of Light’s offered protection, instead striving forth to challenge her weak and softened children, forcing them to adapt and grow. In this way the great work has continued ever since, as every soul who walks the path trains every soul they encounter to walk it in strength.”

Pashilyn stopped reading, raising her eyes from the page to regard Flaethwyn.

The elf sat in silence, brow deeply furrowed, staring at the wall past Pashilyn’s shoulder and seeming to find nothing to say, for once. After letting the quiet drag out for a few minutes, the human shut the book, then reached for another.

“This one is orcish, as you noticed. Dark elves are still elves; they have a very sophisticated understanding of the world. Orcs are…simpler creatures. Ahem. While the lands crumbled, the stars fell, and the great plains of water boiled away, the goddesses sheltered their many peoples within safe sanctuaries. For a hundred days and a hundred nights, while the world continued to die outside, the people of Ephemera huddled in safety. They did not work. They were forbidden to fight. There was nothing to hunt. They ate only what was fed to them by the hands of goddesses. Pleasures of every kind were provided, that the people might be happy in their imprisonment. This continued peacefully until Koshku the Champion saw his people turning to sloth and timidity, growing subservient upon generous and all-powerful hands, granting them life at the expense of everything that made them orc. Gathering his clan, he rode forth from their sanctuary, ignoring the calls of kind Sanora to return to her bosom.

“Stars fell upon them, and orcs died—but those who lived learned to watch the skies with care and avoid death from above. The ground crumbled beneath them, and orcs died—but those who lived became alert and fleet of foot, heeding the signs of the earth, racing back from the cracks and too spry to fall victim to the collapsing land. Game and foraging was scarce, and orcs died—but those who lived became canny in their hunting and gathering, hardened against poison and rough food so their bellies could be filled on all manner of things that other races would not eat, that they could survive in lands where all others failed. Fear and hunger were their constant companions, so much that they became cherished friends, no longer beating the orcs down but urging them on, to survive, to grow stronger.

“Watching from their safe strongholds, Sanora fretted to see brave orcs perish, but Virya laughed to see the survivors become greater. Well pleased with them, she named Koshku her favorite among her creations, rewarding him with women and his offspring with great strength, that his descendants would spread across the world as a mighty race.”

Flaethwyn’s lip curled in a grimace. “That’s disgusting. Not just the orcs and their…orcishness. This is insanity! An entire religion based on…on causing trouble?”

“Not at all,” Pashilyn replied, and winked. “An entire category of religions based on causing trouble. Ah, but I haven’t even gotten to my favorite one, yet. This’ll be the most relevant to our upcoming adventure.” She pushed away the orcish text and opened another. “The Tales of the Goblin Heroes.”

Flaethwyn heaved a disgruntled sigh and slouched back in her chair. “Oh, I’m sure this will be just delightful.”

Pashilyn flipped through a few pages, past the first passages of the book. “Ah, here we are. In those days, death and suffering were everywhere. The cunning but feeble elves—”

“How dare they!”

“—cried out for help as they were… Okay, actually, I’m going to summarize this one. The whole account is a lot of chapters long; it’s a series of stories about various goblin heroes, hence the title. The first half of the creation saga consists of stories pairing a goblin hero and his followers with one of the other races, and how they survived the Shattering. So, the elves appealed to the goddesses for help from fire that fell from the sky and were given their characteristic magics, while Horgun took the risk of digging into the ground and taught his people to live in tunnels where they couldn’t be struck. Humans begged for help because living in the wild was hard on them and they were starving, and the goddesses taught them the arts and crafts of civilization, how to build cities and organize themselves, develop technology. Adzu the Clever took the lead in figuring all that out herself and taught other goblins the same methods. Various beastfolk…” She flipped through a few more pages. “It goes on like that for a while…ah, yes, this is the one I wanted. Sorda raised his fist to the burning sky, shouting curses at Virya. ‘You help all these other races! You gave the elves their magic, the humans their crafts, the orcs their strength, the dwarves their hardiness, and a hundred other gifts for a hundred other peoples, but you do nothing for goblins! Why did you make us if only to leave us to die?’ And Virya appeared before him, smiling. ‘I have not helped you, little goblin, because of all the races upon this broken world, yours alone do I respect. Where the others need my helping hand to survive, you have passed every test fate could devise, of your own cleverness and will. I will tell you a secret, little goblin: the other races depend upon us, and so will always serve us. Your kind depends upon only yourselves and the gifts with which I created you, and so you alone honor me. It will be goblins who are the last left upon Ephemera when all else fades. That is your task: depend on only yourselves, grow and learn, and survive beyond the bitterest end. Then, at last, you will yourselves be as gods.’”

She turned a few more pages. “And then the second half of the creation account is more hero stories, explaining how the goblins did acquire their specific gifts. Their dark vision, sharp hearing, cutting teeth and so on. Each was earned by a goblin hero and passed down to their descendants, never given to them from above. But you see the theme common to all of these, Flaethwyn?”

“Struggle.” The elf’s face was twisted in a scowl of angry confusion. “The maniacs worship struggle.”

Pashilyn nodded, closing the book of goblin tales. “In their way, the Viryans are as devoted to restoring Ephemera as we are. They simply disagree about the appropriate method. Based on these texts, some of them may not even see us as their enemies. There are other hints in the dark elves’ theology, for example, that they regard we Sanorites and themselves as two sides of a coin, both necessary to test and strengthen each other. But you understand, now, why I didn’t want the others to read these?”

Flaethwyn was many things and not all of them complimentary, but she did not lack intelligence. Nor was she shy about facing the unpleasant; elf or not, no woman could succeed as an adventurer in Fflyr Dlemathlys without that willingness to confront the ugly side of life. It was that specific reality which she drew upon now.

“It’s…adventurer logic. This is the whole progression of Blessed. You find and take on ever greater challenges, improving your skills and gaining more power. But…adventurers are always somewhat apart from society—at least, in our society. It sounds like the goblins—the Viryans in general—build their whole cultures around that.”

Pashilyn nodded. “What’s always seemed oddest to me is how we rarely hear from Viryans unless there’s a Dark Lord goading them onto the attack. Based on what relatively little we understand about them, it seems like they should constantly be trying to test our strength. But it seems constant across every known part of the world that they mostly keep to themselves, most of the time, until Virya summons a Dark Lord. And then they come boiling out of their hidden civilizations, pushing ours to the brink.”

“Strengthening themselves through struggle,” Flaethwyn whispered.

“And, in the process, strengthening us. Which has always left me with the really scary question: are they actually, as we’ve been taught, evil? Or merely…different?”

The silence sat heavy between them.